#find admin panel

[doesthebatfamknowpopculture]

just discovered this blog, thank you for your essential work 🙏 do you accept obvious expys? tim is apparently a fan of “the matthew davis band” (dave matthews band) and “the goo fighters” (foo fighters) in Impulse #56

Thank you! I'm glad you're enjoying the blog. c:

I actually put a poll about this a while back, and I think the decision was "yes, but it'll be tagged/noted as parodies/expies." But yes, feel free to submit those too!

[sunarryn]

DP X Marvel #20

Jazz Fenton was not supposed to become an urban legend, a media conspiracy theory, or a widely feared intern with multiple Tumblr fan accounts, but alas, here they were.

At 19 years old, Jasmine “Jazz” Fenton had moved to New York on a full scholarship to Columbia University, double majoring in psychology and business, with a minor in engineering just for fun. She wore blazers older than most Columbia freshmen, carried a briefcase instead of a backpack, and maintained a 4.0 GPA while ghost-proofing her dorm room using proprietary tech she’d built in high school. On the third day of orientation, she calmly tased a literal demon that crawled out of an upper-floor window of Butler Library and continued sipping her iced matcha like it was a Tuesday. Which, unfortunately, it was.

This act caught the attention of a lot of people, including—but not limited to—an NYPD exorcist division, a priest named Father Julio, two SHIELD interns on a coffee break, and Pepper Potts, who was in the city for a Stark Industries panel on sustainable weapons of mass deterrence.

“She tased a demon,” Pepper said slowly to her assistant.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“In broad daylight.”

“Correct.”

“And then she—what did she say again?”

The assistant glanced at their notes. “‘Don’t manifest on Ivy League property, it lowers our national rank.’”

Pepper stared into the distance. “Find her. And hire her.”

Within forty-eight hours, Jazz was sitting in a glass elevator ascending Stark Tower. She hadn’t applied for anything. She hadn’t submitted a résumé. But her phone pinged during a psych lecture with a Stark Industries-branded email that simply said, “Ms. Potts would like to speak to you,” followed by a GPS pin and a non-negotiable appointment time.

Tony, predictably, was not consulted.

“What do you MEAN she’s nineteen? What do you MEAN she’s your intern? Pepper, she built a plasma cannon in your office. In two hours. Using my old espresso machine.”

“It was broken,” Jazz added politely, scrolling through quantum schematics on her StarkPad. “And under OSHA, coffee-related injuries are still injuries. You’re welcome.”

Tony pointed a wrench at her like it was a gun. “You don’t scare me, you ginger menace.”

Jazz smiled faintly. “You should be scared. You tried to patent a neural override system with an open-ended quantum key. You’re lucky I fixed it before it broadcasted the location of every Stark tech asset on Earth.”

There was a pause.

Tony turned to Pepper. “She’s you. But worse. Why is she you but worse?”

“I don’t know,” Pepper murmured. “But I think I love her.”

The rumors started on week three.

At first, it was office gossip. Just little things. Intern was too tall. Too confident. Too quiet. You don’t trust the quiet ones. And then she reverse-engineered the Arc Reactor because she was bored on lunch break, and the quiet turned into fear.

“Is she—like—a clone or something?” asked one junior developer to another over ramen in the cafeteria.

“I heard she’s Tony’s secret daughter,” the other whispered. “Raised in a lab. Trained from birth. Like that kid in Kingsman but with algebra.”

One engineer swore they saw her casually deflect a pulse grenade using a file folder. Another caught her manually rebooting the Tower AI after it shorted out during a lightning storm—something that shouldn’t have been possible unless you had admin-level clearance, which Jazz absolutely did not have. In theory.

“Pepper,” Tony said slowly one morning, watching Jazz reprogram a malfunctioning security drone while also Skyping her Columbia psych professor, “do we have a bioengineered heir you forgot to tell me about?”

“No,” Pepper said, sipping coffee. “But if I die, she gets the company.”

Tony sputtered. “Excuse me?!”

Jazz didn’t look up. “I accept.”

The media got involved during Stark Industries’ spring gala.

Jazz, dressed in a midnight blue suit that cost more than her entire tuition, arrived at Pepper’s side like a storm. She was calm, composed, stunningly competent, and intercepted two would-be saboteurs in the first thirty minutes with nothing but a suspicious stare and a champagne flute.

“She’s Pepper’s daughter,” someone tweeted.

“She’s not old enough to be her daughter.”

“She’s her clone. Pepper 2.0. She even walks like her.”

“I would let her step on me.”

By the next morning, “#StarkHeir” was trending worldwide, and conspiracy theorists had posted side-by-side comparisons of Jazz and Pepper’s bone structures, speech patterns, and typing styles. Someone even made a Google doc of all their shared quirks. It had color-coded sections. There were charts.

Tony spent the entire week yelling.

“She’s NOT my kid! She’s not even related to Pepper!”

Pepper, annoyingly, did not help. “Technically, we don’t know she’s not.”

“Oh my god.”

Meanwhile, Jazz was unfazed.

“Should I post a clarification?” she asked.

“No,” said Pepper, texting casually. “Let them fear you.”

The Avengers had mixed feelings.

Steve was terrified of her. She reminded him too much of Natasha, if Natasha had spent her childhood in AP classes and the rest of her time inventing hover grenades. Sam and Rhodey liked her, mostly because she was polite and explained quantum mechanics in metaphors that involved pop tarts. Peter developed an immediate and debilitating crush, which she ignored with expert precision.

“Hi, Miss Fenton,” Peter said shyly one day, watching her reprogram a Stark drone mid-air while eating a bagel.

“Peter,” she said without looking up. “You have a calculus exam in twenty-two minutes and your spider-suit’s magnetic lock is uncalibrated.”

Peter turned pink. “Oh. Thanks. Wait—how did you—?”

She looked at him. “I am your god now.”

Peter nearly fainted.

Natasha liked her. Clint was afraid of her. Thor called her “Little Flame Witch” and offered to train her in Asgardian battle strategy, which she accepted, just to make Bruce nervous.

But it was Loki who said it first.

“She’s not of this world,” he muttered to Wanda during a conference meeting. “She carries too much silence for a mortal. Something follows her.”

He was right, of course.

Because sometimes, at night, the tower cameras would glitch. Alarms would blip off for three-point-two seconds. And if you reviewed the footage frame by frame, you’d catch a flicker of something—green light, spectral claws, shadows moving too fast.

Jazz never addressed it.

She just carried her ghost-hunting thermos in her tote bag and once drop-kicked a poltergeist out of the 35th floor without spilling her coffee. Pepper made her head of paranormal security the next day. Tony threw a chair.

“I HATE HER.”

“You’re jealous.”

“She made a hover-bomb out of printer ink and stale Red Vines. WHO DOES THAT.”

“She’s better than you, darling. Accept it.”

The Pentagon called.

Then SHIELD.

Then the President.

They all wanted meetings. Wanted the Stark Intern. Wanted the girl who built an anti-phasing grenade in her sleep and then used it to banish an interdimensional wraith that had haunted the UN for seventy years. She’d done it in kitten heels. While on speakerphone with Columbia discussing her thesis on behavioral disassociation and spectral trauma.

“Ms. Fenton,” said General Ross one day, sitting across from her in a secure Stark lab, “how old are you again?”

“Nineteen.”

He blinked. “And you… developed this ectoplasmic nullifier?”

“Yes.”

“From scratch?”

“I didn’t steal it, if that’s what you’re implying.”

Tony watched from the corner, snickering into a bag of popcorn.

“Careful, Ross,” he said. “She’s been known to vaporize military-grade egos.”

Jazz didn’t smile, but her eyes sparkled just a little.

The conspiracy peaked when a tabloid published an article titled “Pepper Potts’ Secret Daughter: Genius Intern or Bio-Engineered Successor?”

There were pie charts. Photos. A leaked voicemail from Tony yelling “SHE ISN’T MINE, YOU IMBECILES” that only made things worse.

One Tumblr post had over 800k notes and a list of reasons why Jazz was definitely a Potts-Stark hybrid, including, “built a laser harp,” “once told Elon Musk to ‘shut up before I make a better Tesla with a coffee maker and two forks,’” and “terrifying corporate aura.”

Jazz printed the post. Framed it. Hung it in her dorm.

Pepper just looked fond.

“I think you’ve officially surpassed me in public fear,” she said one afternoon as Jazz filed patents under twenty different shell companies.

Jazz shrugged. “You set the bar very high.”

“I’m proud of you.”

Tony sobbed in the background. “This is my nightmare.”

“Jazz,” said Pepper sweetly, “could you file a cease-and-desist against MIT for trying to recruit you illegally?”

“Already did. Also, I bought MIT using the company card.”

Tony screamed.

And through it all—ghost attacks, PR disasters, tech blackouts, alien entities, and one incident where Jazz weaponized her psych minor to dismantle a HYDRA agent’s entire worldview in a hallway—she remained completely, terrifyingly composed.

Because this was Jazz Fenton. The girl who survived Amity Park, ghost portals, mad science parents, and her half-dead little brother who punched death in the face on Tuesdays.

The Marvel universe had no idea what it had just unleashed.

But Pepper did.

She just smiled and handed Jazz her new badge: Chief Innovation Officer, Spectral Division.

“I think you’re ready for phase two.”

Jazz sipped her coffee. “Let’s haunt the world.”

[luetta]

i saw someone joke about robot girls as an example of kinks that are just impossible to ever be made reality, like they're completely in the land of fiction. but ... that is just not true!

you can set the mood in your room. turn off the lights but put on some little coloured purple and blue blinkers. sit her down on the edge of your bed and sit down behind her. let her eyes flutter closed since there's no reason to keep them upon in this dark, safe room. softly coo into her ears, she's been such a good robot day! doing so many tasks so efficiently! making everyone around her so happy. but, silly her, she overdid it. so you're just going to have to do a tiny bit of repair work. "will that be okay, dear?" of course it will be. she trusts you completely. you're her admin. you created her. of course she has a safeguard preventing just anyone from powering her down, but she lets you override that with no resistance. such a good girl.

press your finger into the back of her neck, and then drag it down her spine. as she powers down, glide her limp body softly onto the bed. put her feet up so she's lying down completely now. maybe hold her limbs up a bit and let them drop. yep, she's powered down now. she's not unconscious, just mental faculties are capped at 10% and body autonomy is disabled. all you have to do now is find where she's sustained some damage. trace your fingers all along her chassis, poking in with a "screwdriver" to take her outer layer off and examine the wires and joints. hmmm... oil is a bit thin. these wires are too close together, could cause sparking and overheating. goodness, your fan is dusty. you've been working so hard, haven't you? gently turn her over onto her stomach now. it's time to investigate her processing unit, her software.

make sure her arms aren't stuck underneath her. once she's all comfy, you can unscrew her entire back panel. make sure to trace your fingers all around her back and spine as you do, robot girls love that shit. the soft human touch is heavenly to a machine of metal and electricity. and such a well designed chassis too, so beautiful. but off it comes, what's underneath is even prettier! oh, even now, it's still hot to the touch. you've been thinking so much today ... you don't need to think anymore though. just let me explore you. read out her event log for the day. algorithmic neural plasticity score. joint lubricant levels. corrupted data percentage. things like that. they're like scores to her. praise her if she's gotten good ones, tease her if she's gotten bad ones.

i could write so much more and maybe i will...like roleplaying injecting a virus into her neck or chest, and feeling the code flow all down her body...your cock can even be the usb!

also, at some point lay your whole body weight onto them - arms over her arms and legs over her legs. to calibrate pressure sensors or something. bc lets face it if she's a robot girl then she is 100% a neurodivergent cutie who'd love that sm <3

[nornities]

How to use DXVK with The Sims 3

Have you seen this post about using DXVK by Criisolate? But felt intimidated by the sheer mass of facts and information?

@desiree-uk and I compiled a guide and the configuration file to make your life easier. It focuses on players not using the EA App, but it might work for those just the same. It’s definitely worth a try.

Adding this to your game installation will result in a better RAM usage. So your game is less likely to give you Error 12 or crash due to RAM issues. It does NOT give a huge performance boost, but more stability and allows for higher graphics settings in game.

The full guide behind the cut. Let me know if you also would like it as PDF.

Happy simming!

Disclaimer and Credits

Desiree and I are no tech experts and just wrote down how we did this. Our ability to help if you run into trouble is limited. So use at your own risk and back up your files!

We both are on Windows 10 and start the game via TS3W.exe, not the EA App. So your experience may differ.

This guide is based on our own experiments and of course criisolate’s post on tumblr:  https://www.tumblr.com/criisolate/749374223346286592/ill-explain-what-i-did-below-before-making-any

This guide is brought to you by Desiree-UK and Norn.

Compatibility

Note: This will conflict with other programs that “inject” functionality into your game so they may stop working. Notably

Reshade

GShade

Nvidia Experience/Nvidia Inspector/Nvidia Shaders

RivaTuner Statistics Server

It does work seamlessly with LazyDuchess’ Smooth Patch.

LazyDuchess’ Launcher: unknown

Alder Lake patch: does conflict. One user got it working by starting the game by launching TS3.exe (also with admin rights) instead of TS3W.exe. This seemed to create the cache file for DXVK. After that, the game could be started from TS3W.exe again. That might not work for everyone though.

A word on FPS and V-Sync

With such an old game it’s crucial to cap framerate (FPS). This is done in the DXVK.conf file. Same with V-Sync.

You need

a text editor (easiest to use is Windows Notepad)

to download DXVK, version 2.3.1 from here: https://github.com/doitsujin/DXVK/releases/tag/v2.3.1 Extract the archive, you are going to need the file d3d9.dll from the x32 folder

the configuration file DXVK.conf from here: https://github.com/doitsujin/DXVK/blob/master/DXVK.conf. Optional: download the edited version with the required changes here.

administrator rights on your PC

to know your game’s installation path (bin folder) and where to find the user folder

a tiny bit of patience :)

First Step: Backup

Backup your original Bin folder in your Sims 3 installation path! The DXVK file may overwrite some files! The path should be something like this (for retail): \Program Files (x86)\Electronic Arts\The Sims 3\Game\Bin (This is the folder where also GraphicsRule.sgr and the TS3W.exe and TS3.exe are located.)

Backup your options.ini in your game’s user folder! Making the game use the DXVK file will count as a change in GPU driver, so the options.ini will reset once you start your game after installation. The path should be something like this: \Documents\Electronic Arts\The Sims 3 (This is the folder where your Mods folder is located).

Preparations

Make sure you run the game as administrator. You can check that by right-clicking on the icon that starts your game. Go to Properties > Advanced and check the box “Run as administrator”. Note: This will result in a prompt each time you start your game, if you want to allow this application to make modifications to your system. Click “Yes” and the game will load.

2. Make sure you have the DEP settings from Windows applied to your game.

Open the Windows Control Panel.

Click System and Security > System > Advanced System Settings.

On the Advanced tab, next to the Performance heading, click Settings.

Click the Data Execution Prevention tab.

Select 'Turn on DEP for all programs and services except these”:

Click the Add button, a window to the file explorer opens. Navigate to your Sims 3 installation folder (the bin folder once again) and add TS3W.exe and TS3.exe.

Click OK. Then you can close all those dialog windows again.

Setting up the DXVK.conf file

Open the file with a text editor and delete everything in it. Then add these values:

d3d9.textureMemory = 1

d3d9.presentInterval = 1

d3d9.maxFrameRate = 60

d3d9.presentInterval enables V-Sync,d3d9.maxFrameRate sets the FrameRate. You can edit those values, but never change the first line (d3d9.textureMemory)!

The original DXVK.conf contains many more options in case you would like to add more settings.

A. no Reshade/GShade

Setting up DXVK

Copy the two files d3d9.dll and DXVK.conf into the Bin folder in your Sims 3 installation path. This is the folder where also GraphicsRule.sgr and the TS3W.exe and TS3.exe are located. If you are prompted to overwrite files, please choose yes (you DID backup your folder, right?)

And that’s basically all that is required to install.

Start your game now and let it run for a short while. Click around, open Buy mode or CAS, move the camera.

Now quit without saving. Once the game is closed fully, open your bin folder again and double check if a file “TS3W.DXVK-cache” was generated. If so – congrats! All done!

Things to note

Heads up, the game options will reset! So it will give you a “vanilla” start screen and options.

Don’t worry if the game seems to be frozen during loading. It may take a few minutes longer to load but it will load eventually.

The TS3W.DXVK-cache file is the actual cache DXVK is using. So don’t delete this! Just ignore it and leave it alone. When someone tells to clear cache files – this is not one of them!

Update Options.ini

Go to your user folder and open the options.ini file with a text editor like Notepad.

Find the line “lastdevice = “. It will have several values, separated by semicolons. Copy the last one, after the last semicolon, the digits only. Close the file.

Now go to your backup version of the Options.ini file, open it and find that line “lastdevice” again. Replace the last value with the one you just copied. Make sure to only replace those digits!

Save and close the file.

Copy this version of the file into your user folder, replacing the one that is there.

Things to note:

If your GPU driver is updated, you might have to do these steps again as it might reset your device ID again. Though it seems that the DXVK ID overrides the GPU ID, so it might not happen.

How do I know it’s working?

Open the task manager and look at RAM usage. Remember the game can only use 4 GB of RAM at maximum and starts crashing when usage goes up to somewhere between 3.2 – 3.8 GB (it’s a bit different for everybody).

So if you see values like 2.1456 for RAM usage in a large world and an ongoing save, it’s working. Generally the lower the value, the better for stability.

Also, DXVK will have generated its cache file called TS3W.DXVK-cache in the bin folder. The file size will grow with time as DXVK is adding stuff to it, e.g. from different worlds or savegames. Initially it might be something like 46 KB or 58 KB, so it’s really small.

Optional: changing MemCacheBudgetValue

MemCacheBudgetValue determines the size of the game's VRAM Cache. You can edit those values but the difference might not be noticeable in game. It also depends on your computer’s hardware how much you can allow here.

The two lines of seti MemCacheBudgetValue correspond to the high RAM level and low RAM level situations. Therefore, theoretically, the first line MemCacheBudgetValue should be set to a larger value, while the second line should be set to a value less than or equal to the first line.

The original values represent 200MB (209715200) and 160MB (167772160) respectively. They are calculated as 200x1024x1024=209175200 and 160x1024x1024=167772160.

Back up your GraphicsRules.sgr file! If you make a mistake here, your game won’t work anymore.

Go to your bin folder and open your GraphicsRules.sgr with a text editor.

Search and find two lines that set the variables for MemCacheBudgetValue.

Modify these two values to larger numbers. Make sure the value in the first line is higher or equals the value in the second line. Examples for values: 1073741824, which means 1GB 2147483648 which means 2 GB. -1 (minus 1) means no limit (but is highly experimental, use at own risk)

Save and close the file. It might prompt you to save the file to a different place and not allow you to save in the Bin folder. Just save it someplace else in this case and copy/paste it to the Bin folder afterwards. If asked to overwrite the existing file, click yes.

Now start your game and see if it makes a difference in smoothness or texture loading. Make sure to check RAM and VRAM usage to see how it works.

You might need to change the values back and forth to find the “sweet spot” for your game. Mine seems to work best with setting the first value to 2147483648 and the second to 1073741824.

Uninstallation

Delete these files from your bin folder (installation path):

d3d9.dll

DXVK.conf

TS3W.DXVK-cache

And if you have it, also TS3W_d3d9.log

if you changed the values in your GraphicsRule.sgr file, too, don’t forget to change them back or to replace the file with your backed up version.

OR

delete the bin folder and add it from your backup again.

B. with Reshade/GShade

Follow the steps from part A. no Reshade/Gshade to set up DXVK.

If you are already using Reshade (RS) or GShade (GS), you will be prompted to overwrite files, so choose YES. RS and GS may stop working, so you will need to reinstall them.

Whatever version you are using, the interface shows similar options of which API you can choose from (these screenshots are from the latest versions of RS and GS).

Please note: 

Each time you install and uninstall DXVK, switching the game between Vulkan and d3d9, is essentially changing the graphics card ID again, which results in the settings in your options.ini file being repeatedly reset.

ReShade interface

Choose – Vulcan

Click next and choose your preferred shaders.

Hopefully this install method works and it won't install its own d3d9.dll file.

If it doesn't work, then choose DirectX9 in RS, but you must make sure to replace the d3d9.dll file with DXVK's d3d9.dll (the one from its 32bit folder, checking its size is 3.86mb.)

GShade interface

Choose –           

Executable Architecture: 32bit

Graphics API: DXVK

Hooking: Normal Mode

GShade is very problematic, it won't work straight out of the box and the overlay doesn't show up, which defeats the purpose of using it if you can't add or edit the shaders you want to use.

Check the game's bin folder, making sure the d3d9.dll is still there and its size is 3.86mb - that is DXVK's dll file.

If installing using the DXVK method doesn't work, you can choose the DirectX method, but there is no guarantee it works either.

The game will not run with these files in the folder:

d3d10core.dll

d3d11.dll

dxgi.dll

If you delete them, the game will start but you can't access GShade! It might be better to use ReShade.

Some Vulcan and DirectX information, if you’re interested:

Vulcan is for rather high end graphic cards but is backward compatible with some older cards. Try this method with ReShade or GShade first.

DirectX is more stable and works best with older cards and systems. Try this method if Vulcan doesn't work with ReShade/GShade in your game – remember to replace the d3d9.dll with DXVK's d3d9.dll.

For more information on the difference between Vulcan and DirectX, see this article:

https://www.howtogeek.com/884042/vulkan-vs-DirectX-12/

[croisants]

New Coach (3) - End

Part 1, Part2

Tyler didn’t sleep much.

Not because of nightmares this time—but because of possibility.

Someone else believed him. Someone else saw it. That changed everything.

He replayed every conversation with Vance in his head. Every sidelong glance from Ethan. Every word Shane had said.

He was missing something. But not for long.

---

The next morning, Tyler walked into school already scanning.

He wasn’t just surviving anymore. He was watching.

And that’s when he saw it.

A girl—senior, maybe. He didn’t know her name. She was arguing with Coach Vance outside the admin office. Her voice was hushed, sharp. His was calm, as always. Too calm.

Then she stormed off.

Tyler ducked into a corner by the vending machine and watched as Vance stood there for a moment… then looked around and slipped a key into the side panel of the trophy case.

It clicked open.

He pulled something out. A folder. Slim. Labeled.

CONFIDENTIAL.

Vance glanced around again and walked down the hall.

Tyler didn’t breathe.

A minute later, someone appeared beside him.

“You saw it, didn’t you?”

Tyler jumped.

Shane.

Leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed, like he’d been waiting there the whole time.

“How long were you—?”

“Long enough,” Shane said. “He shouldn’t be touching those files.”

“What do you think it is?”

“I think,” Shane said, turning to walk, “it’s time we find out.”

---

That night, Tyler came back.

He waited until the janitor locked the east wing and the last car rolled out of the parking lot. Then he slipped in through the cracked window by the art room—just like Shane said he used to do at his last school.

He moved like he’d done this before.

Heart pounding. Backpack slung low. Black hoodie. Gloves.

The hall lights were off, just red emergency bulbs glowing in the corners like watching eyes.

He made it to the trophy case.

His breath caught.

The same keyhole.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a bent bobby pin. Not perfect, but it was something. He knelt and started working.

Click.

Turn.

Nothing.

Click.

His palms were sweating now. The hallway stretched out like a tunnel behind him.

Then, behind the glass—a flash of light.

A phone screen.

And a voice:

“Took you long enough.”

Tyler jumped back, heart hammering.

Inside the open trophy case area—Shane sat cross-legged on the floor, flashlight pointed at the file in his lap.

“What the hell?” Tyler hissed.

Shane looked up with that same unbothered smile.

“Figured you’d come. Thought I’d save you the trouble.”

“You already got in?”

Shane held up a thin piece of bent metal. “Lock’s trash. Took thirty seconds.”

Tyler shook his head. “You could’ve told me.”

“I wanted to see if you’d actually do it,” Shane said. “Guess I was right.”

He slid the file across the floor.

Tyler opened it.

Inside—printed emails, redacted reports, and a staff transfer document.

Coach Owen Vance.

No photo.

No signature.

And under “previous employment”?

Redacted.

Tyler looked up.

“This is real,” he whispered.

Shane’s smile widened, just enough to say, "Yes. Keep going. Dig deeper."

And so Tyler did.

---

Tyler flipped through the rest of the file, fingers trembling.

Nothing made sense.

Names blacked out. Pages missing. Lines of text whited out completely.

It wasn’t a folder—it was a trailhead. A mystery waiting to be unraveled.

“Why would they hide this?” he murmured.

Shane stood, sliding the folder back into his bag with the care of someone handling a weapon.

“Because Vance isn’t supposed to be here.”

Tyler looked at him.

“You really believe that?”

Shane met his eyes. Steady. Certain.

“I believe people like him don’t just show up without reason. And if you don’t pull the thread now…” He shrugged. “It’ll strangle you later.”

Tyler didn’t sleep that night.

Not out of fear.

But purpose.

For the first time, it felt like the curtain was lifting.

He didn’t know he was standing on a stage Ethan had built just for him.

---

Tyler was buzzing the next morning.

Not with adrenaline—but with focus.

The folder. The redacted documents. Shane’s certainty.

It wasn’t just paranoia anymore. It was a case.

He’d been hunted. Gaslit. Humiliated.

Now he was hunting back.

---

Ethan sat by himself at the lunch table, like always. Head down, earbuds in, tapping quietly at his laptop.

Tyler walked straight toward him.

Shane had said not to move too fast. Wait. Gather more.

But Tyler needed to see something in Ethan’s eyes. Needed to see him flinch.

He dropped into the seat across from him, hard.

Ethan didn’t look up.

“Nice morning,” Tyler said, voice flat.

Ethan paused his music. “Sure.”

“You know,” Tyler went on, “it’s weird. How someone like Coach Vance shows up out of nowhere. No background. No files. Just power.”

Ethan blinked. “Okay.”

Tyler leaned in. “Know what’s weirder? Seeing your name show up in the same places. Same times.”

Ethan smiled faintly. “That sounds like a conspiracy.”

“I broke into his file.”

That made Ethan finally look up.

His eyes weren’t scared.

They were curious.

Interested.

Amused.

“You really did that?”

“You tell me,” Tyler said. “Since you are him.”

There was a pause.

Then Ethan leaned forward, voice soft.

“You sure you want to do this here?”

And that was the trap.

Because behind Tyler, a voice snapped:

“Mr. Stanton?”

Tyler turned.

Ms. Kellerman.

Tray in her hands. Eyes narrowed.

Ethan sat back and pressed his fingers to his temple.

“Sorry, Ms. Kellerman. I think Tyler’s going through a lot right now. I was just trying to help.”

Tyler stood fast. “He’s lying!”

“Tyler,” she said, stepping forward slowly. “What are you doing?”

“He’s not who you think he is! He’s Coach Vance!”

Ethan flinched perfectly. “Please stop.”

“You think I’m crazy?” Tyler snapped. “Look at him! Look at his face!”

Kellerman grabbed his arm. “That’s enough.”

He looked down.

Everyone was staring.

Phones out.

Laughing.

Recording.

And Ethan—sweet, fragile, harmless Ethan—rubbed his eyes like he might cry.

---

Later, Tyler sat outside the nurse’s office, head in his hands.

He didn’t know how Ethan did it.

The timing. The tears. The perfect expression of victimhood.

But it worked.

Again.

He was losing.

And Ethan hadn’t even touched him.

Then, the nurse gave Tyler a juice box and a counseling referral.

He didn’t take either.

He just sat in the hallway, knees up, staring at the scuffed tile like it might tell him what to do next.

He’d had him.

Right there.

Ethan should’ve cracked.

Instead, he made Tyler look insane.

Again.

---

It was dark by the time Tyler got outside.

The campus was empty. The wind was sharp.

But Shane was waiting—sitting on the low concrete wall outside the gym, hoodie pulled over his head, like he’d never moved.

He didn’t say anything when Tyler approached.

Didn’t ask what happened.

He just said, “You ready to stop playing defense?”

Tyler sank down next to him, silent for a long beat.

Then, “He flipped it on me. Like I was a kid chasing shadows.”

“You’re not,” Shane said. “You’re chasing something real. But you’re doing it out in the open. That’s how you lose.”

Tyler looked over. “Then what do I do?”

Shane pulled something from his bag.

A folded blueprint.

Of the school.

He unfolded it slowly on his knees.

“There’s an old access stair under the south wing. Leads straight into the coaching office. No cameras. No keys needed. Most people don’t even know it’s still unlocked.”

Tyler stared.

“You’ve been planning this?”

Shane smiled. “No. I just know how to find pressure points.”

He tapped the corner of the map.

“We go in. We pull everything. His computer. His drawers. His backup drives. We don’t guess anymore. We know.”

Tyler’s hands curled into fists.

“Okay,” he said. “Let’s take him down.”

Shane grinned like a wolf.

“Then we go in Friday night.”

---

That night, Tyler lay awake, staring at his ceiling.

He had the map. The plan. The one person he could trust.

For the first time in weeks, it felt like things were falling into place.

He didn’t know they were falling around him.

One step from the edge.

Exactly where Ethan wanted him.

---

Friday night.

No lights in the school. No cameras rolling in the south wing. Just silence and shadows.

Tyler and Shane slipped through the broken side gate at 10:17 p.m.

No one saw them.

Shane carried the map. Tyler carried a crowbar, just in case.

They didn’t speak much. The plan was tight. Clean. Shane made sure of that.

They reached the south stairwell.

Just like he said—no alarm. The rusted door opened with a groan and a puff of old dust.

They descended into the dark.

---

The office was colder than it should’ve been.

No photos. No plaques. Just a desk, a laptop, and a filing cabinet with a padlock Tyler popped with a single twist.

They moved fast.

Shane dug into the drawers while Tyler scrolled through the laptop.

“What are we even looking for?” Tyler whispered.

“Anything he didn’t want found,” Shane muttered. “Emails. Staff forms. Video files.”

Tyler scrolled deeper—and stopped.

One folder.

Untitled.

He clicked.

Inside were only two files.

One was a photo.

A still shot of Ethan, standing in the school hallway—timestamped.

The second...

A picture of Shane.

Same hallway.

Same timestamp.

Tyler froze.

His throat went dry.

He glanced at Shane—who hadn’t noticed yet, still flipping through folders.

Tyler clicked the metadata.

The files were fake.

Generated.

Planted.

He looked back at Shane.

Shane looked up.

And for a split second—Tyler swore the corner of his mouth twitched.

A smile.

But it was gone before it landed.

“Find something?” Shane asked.

Tyler shook his head slowly.

“No.”

---

When they left, Tyler felt different.

Not angry. Not afraid.

But... off-balance.

Like the ground was shifting beneath him.

Like maybe he didn’t know who was standing next to him anymore.

---

Tyler couldn’t stop hearing it.

That line.

“Not the type to make moves on his own.”

It echoed in his head, over and over, like a whispered refrain he couldn’t shake.

He remembered when Coach Vance had said it—quiet, deliberate, after a late-night drill when the gym was empty and the lights buzzed faintly overhead.

“That kid Ethan? Always hiding at the back of class. Stays quiet. Doesn’t make waves. Not the type to make moves on his own.”

Vance had said it like it was fact.

But now—days later—Shane had said the exact same thing.

Tyler remembered it clearly. He had been ranting about Ethan while he and Shane at the cafe, calling him weak, passive, fake.

And Shane, calm as ever, had replied:

“Not the type to make moves on his own.”

Same words.

Same rhythm.

Same voice?

No. That couldn’t be. Shane’s voice was deeper. Warmer. More relaxed.

But it felt the same.

Too much.

Too close.

---

They were walking the outer loop of the track field after school. Shane was talking about a possible lead—something about hidden footage on a PE server. Tyler wasn’t listening anymore.

He was watching.

Not the words. The rhythm.

The way Shane walked—confident, quiet, with a little swagger at the corners.

The way he paused before delivering certain lines.

It was all so... calculated.

Too polished.

Like someone playing a role.

Tyler slowed down.

“You remember that thing you said about Ethan?” he asked.

Shane looked over, casual. “Which one?”

“That he’s not the type to make moves on his own.”

Shane chuckled. “Still true, isn’t it?”

Tyler forced a nod.

But something turned in his gut.

He remembered Vance’s voice saying those same words. Remembered the gleam in his eyes. The way he’d dropped that line like a match on gasoline.

And now Shane said it too.

Word for word.

---

That night, Tyler pulled out the notes he’d been keeping. Names. Times. Quotes. Moments that didn’t add up.

He highlighted the phrase—both times.

He circled them.

Then he wrote, in all caps:

**WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU, REALLY?**

---

The next morning, Shane met him like always. Smiling. Confident.

But Tyler couldn’t stop watching him like a stranger.

And when Shane looked away for just a second—

Tyler whispered under his breath:

“I think I know your face.”

Shane didn’t hear it.

But he would.

Soon.

---

Tyler didn’t sleep.

He didn’t spiral either.

Is Shane really new Ethan? Coach Vance, Now Shane?

He planned.

If Shane really was who Tyler now feared he was… he’d eventually slip. He’d say something he shouldn’t know. React too fast. Fill in a blank that only Ethan could recognize.

All Tyler had to do was feed him the right detail.

So he picked one.

---

In gym class, freshman year, Ethan once faked an injury during a running test. Everyone had laughed. Tyler had laughed hardest. Ethan limped off the court, face red. Two hours later, someone found his name scrawled in Sharpie on the back of the bleachers.

It was a dumb story.

But only Ethan remembered it.

---

That afternoon, Tyler waited until they were alone again—him and Shane, sitting near the outdoor stairs, like usual. Shane was picking apart a protein bar with surgical focus, eyes on the track field.

Tyler played it casual.

“You ever fake an injury to get out of a test?”

Shane looked up, smirked. “What kind of test?”

“Running,” Tyler said. “Mile run. Freshman year.”

Shane gave a breath of a laugh. “God, yeah. Back at my old school, I limped so bad the nurse thought I tore my calf.”

Tyler nodded slowly.

“So no one wrote your name on the bleachers after?”

Shane blinked.

Just for a second.

Then smiled.

“Wish they had.”

Tyler’s heart skipped.

That pause.

It was nothing.

It was everything.

---

Later that night, Tyler replayed the conversation in his head.

The phrasing.

The timing.

The pause.

Shane had hesitated like someone caught between memories—like he’d almost said “I thought you did” instead.

Tyler scribbled a new line across his notebook:

SHANE ISN’T NEW.

And underneath it:

HE’S PLAYING ME.

---

The Camera (Can't) Lies

Tyler spent his Saturday morning alone at school.

He’d told the janitor he left a jacket in his locker. No one questioned him.

He waited until the hallway was clear.

Then he set the camera.

An old camcorder—grainy, bulky, but reliable. Tucked into the air vent above the east academic wing hallway. Perfect angle. It would capture the entry doors with a timestamp.

If Ethan walked in at 7:52, and Shane showed up behind the gym at 7:58—on the opposite side of campus—he’d have them.

Or he’d have him.

---

Monday came like a storm.

Tyler barely blinked through first period.

At 7:51 a.m., he positioned himself near the gym stairs.

At 7:58, Shane arrived.

Hood up, all confidence.

“Ready to break the system again?” he asked, offering a casual grin.

Tyler forced a nod.

Inside, his pulse was thunder.

---

Lunchtime.

Tyler slipped into the janitor’s closet, locked the door, and pulled out the camera.

Fast-forwarded.

7:50… 7:51…

7:52.

There—Ethan.

Clear as day, walking through the east entry doors. Head down. Hoodie up. Backpack over one shoulder. Small frame. Maybe 5'9" at best.

Tyler stared.

Fast-forwarded.

7:58.

There—Shane, appearing behind the gym.

Different entrance. Opposite side of the school. And Tyler had been there the entire time.

Shane was tall. Broad. At least 6'2". There was no mistaking it.

It was impossible.

Unless...

They were the same person.

Tyler blinked hard, scrubbing backward on the footage.

7:52—Ethan. Small. Slouched. Thin.

7:58—Shane. Confident. Strong. Towering.

That wasn’t a disguise. That wasn’t a trick of posture.

That was a transformation.

Ethan and Shane weren’t just the same person.

Ethan had changed his body.

His height. His build. His presence.

Tyler’s blood went cold.

There was only one explanation.

He wasn’t crazy.

He wasn’t paranoid.

Ethan was a shapeshifter.

Tyler laughed.

A small, cracked sound that almost frightened him.

He had him.

He finally had him.

---

Until the knock came.

Slow.

Measured.

Tyler turned.

Coach Vance stood in the doorway, arms folded, eyes like steel.

“You digging for ghosts, Stanton?” he asked quietly.

Tyler swallowed. “I saw him. I saw—”

Vance stepped into the light.

Smiling.

“You’re getting close.”

Tyler froze.

“What?”

Vance leaned down. His voice was soft—softer than it had ever been.

“I let you see it.”

Tyler’s blood ran cold.

“You—”

“I wanted you to know. Just not yet.”

Then he turned, calm as ever, and walked away.

Leaving Tyler with shaking hands, a blinking screen, and one undeniable truth:

He was never the hunter.

He was the game.

---

He can't wait longer.

Tyler stood outside the principal’s office with a USB drive in his palm.

The camcorder footage was on it.

Two files. Two appearances. One impossibility.

He clutched it like it was a sword. A lifeline. The truth.

He had asked for a private meeting. Said it was important. Urgent. About Coach Vance.

Principal Avery had agreed.

Ms. Kellerman would be there too.

Good.

He needed witnesses.

---

Inside the office, they gave him space at the front desk.

“Go ahead, Tyler,” the principal said gently.

Tyler nodded, breath shaking.

He plugged in the drive. Clicked play.

First: Ethan, walking through the east hall entry at 7:52 a.m.

Then: Shane, meeting Tyler at the gym at 7:58.

“See that?” Tyler said, pointing to the timestamps. “He can’t be in two places at once. Ethan and Shane—they’re the same person.”

The adults leaned in. Silent.

“Look at the body types,” Tyler said. “The walk. The way they look at people. It’s all the same.”

Kellerman raised an eyebrow. “But they’re clearly different. One’s tall. The other isn’t.”

“That’s the point,” Tyler said, voice rising. “He changes. He’s a shapeshifter!”

Silence.

Not awe.

Just... discomfort.

Principal Avery folded his hands. “Tyler. This is serious. Are you suggesting your classmate—Ethan—and Coach Vance are... supernatural?”

“I’m showing you proof!”

He turned back to the screen.

But something was wrong.

The Shane footage—it looked… different.

Smoother. Cropped tighter.

The timestamp was gone.

His stomach dropped.

“No—wait—this isn’t the right version—” he stammered, clicking wildly.

“I think that’s enough,” the principal said.

Kellerman frowned. “Tyler, are you manipulating school footage?”

“I didn’t—no—someone changed it!” Tyler spun. “It was him!”

And then—

The door opened.

Coach Vance stepped in.

Calm. Collected. The model of professionalism.

“Everything alright?” he asked.

Tyler pointed. “You’re him! You’re Ethan! You’ve been playing us all!”

But no one moved.

No one flinched.

Vance looked to the principal. “Maybe it’s time we discussed next steps for Tyler.”

The adults nodded.

Tyler backed up.

No.

No, no, no.

The footage was gone.

His proof was gone.

And Vance—Ethan—stood there, perfectly untouchable.

---

Minutes later, Tyler stumbled into the main hallway.

His head was spinning.

He wiped his face, still shaking.

Then stopped.

Shane was sitting on the bench just outside the front office.

Waiting.

Hood up. Calm. As if he’d been there all morning.

Tyler froze.

He looked back at the office.

Then quietly stepped to the door.

Peeked in.

Principal Avery. Ms. Kellerman. An empty chair.

Vance was gone.

No exit. No hallway movement. No footsteps.

Just gone.

Tyler turned back.

Shane looked up.

“Didn’t go well?” he asked, casual as ever.

And this time, the smile was different.

Not friendly.

Not sympathetic.

Knowing.

The kind of smile that came from someone who’d already seen the outcome.

Who’d designed it.

Tyler blinked.

His breath caught.

Vance was just in that room.

Shane is here now.

They never passed each other.

Unless…

There was nothing to pass.

Because they were never two people at all.

The posture. The eyes. The stillness in Shane’s shoulders.

It’s Vance.

It’s always been Vance.

It’s always been Ethan.

Tyler turned, shaken.

He didn’t say a word.

Shane just sat there.

Still smiling.

---

Tyler didn’t speak to Shane all week.

He smiled when he had to.

Nodded when it was expected.

All the while, the original SD card burned in his jacket pocket like a secret weapon.

His ace.

His checkmate.

---

Friday. Game night.

The gym buzzed. Packed house. Everyone was there.

Perfect.

He had the footage loaded. Time-stamped. Clean. Unedited. Proof.

The projector was set. AV tech gave him control.

This was it.

---

Tyler took center court just before the game started. Lights dimmed. Spotlight caught him mid-step.

He make sure Coach Vance.. or Ethan, or who the fuck is he, still sit on the bench.

“Before we play,” he said into the mic, “there’s something I need to show you.”

Confused murmurs. Curious faces.

He hit play.

7:52 — Ethan entering the east hallway.

7:58 — Shane behind the gym.

Two places. Six minutes. One impossibility.

Gasps. Confusion.

“This,” Tyler said, “is proof. Shane, Ethan, and Coach Vance—are the same person.”

He turned toward the bench.

But Coach Vance was gone. His clipboard left on the chair. Whistle still hanging from the hook.

Tyler blinked.

Then from the bleachers—

Shane stood.

Arms folded. Calm. Watching.

Tyler pointed. “That’s him! He was just on the court!”

People looked between the court and the bleachers.

Vance wasn’t there. Now Shane was.

Then the lights flickered. Just a moment. Tyler lost sight.

And when they returned— Shane was gone.

Tyler spun.

Ethan sat near the top row with his favorite gray sweater. Small. Nervous. Watching the screen like everyone else.

Tyler’s breath caught.

He looked between them. Looked for cameras. For witnesses.

Everyone was murmuring now.

“He was just there—” “Wasn’t that Coach Vance?” “Wait, is he saying the coach is that kid?”

Tyler pointed again.

“He’s all of them! You’re not seeing it!”

But they were. Exactly what Ethan wanted them to see.

One face. Then another. Then another.

Never together. Never overlapping.

Enough distance to make Tyler look insane.

The screen changed. Footage of Tyler sneaking into AV. Digging through lockers. Talking to himself in the hallway.

“Wait—no—this isn’t—”

“Tyler,” Ms. Kellerman called. “I think that’s enough.”

Security moved.

The crowd watched. Phones recorded.

Tyler’s voice cracked.

“You’re all the same person…”

But to them?

He looked broken. Unstable.

Because Ethan had pulled off the perfect finale.

Three masks. One actor. Zero witnesses.

They led Tyler out slowly. Eyes followed. Mouths whispered.

And Ethan—whichever face he wore now—watched it all.

Still here. Still safe. Still in control.

---

Epilogue: The Stage is Set

Life at school went on.

The final game day passed. Tyler Stanton didn’t show.

Some said he transferred. Others said he was institutionalized. A few whispered he cracked under pressure.

But no one really knew.

And eventually, no one really cared.

Coach Vance still ran practices like a general.

Shane still hung by the gym doors, charming anyone who walked by.

And Ethan?

Still sat in the second row of chemistry with his favorite gray sweater, quiet as ever.

No one questioned it.

Why would they?

They were all different.

They had to be.

---

What really happened?

At late night, after that final game, Tyler sat alone in the nurse’s office. Waiting to be picked up. A stomach ache, they said. Maybe a panic attack.

He stared at the floor. Not crying. Not moving.

Then the door opened.

Coach Vance stepped in.

No clipboard. No whistle. Just him.

He closed the door behind him. Locked it.

Tyler didn’t look up.

“Go away.”

Vance didn’t move.

“You were right,” he said quietly.

Tyler lifted his head.

Vance stood and cross his arms. Calm. Steady. Watching him.

“I wanted you to know,” he added. “That you weren’t crazy.”

Tyler swallowed hard. “Then why—why make me look like I was?”

Vance tilted his head.

“Because no one believes a story when it’s told too late.”

And then—

He changed.

Right in front of Tyler.

His posture shifted. His jaw reshaped. His eyes sharpened. His hair darkened. Shoulders narrowed.

Shane stood where Vance had been.

Then—blink—and he was Ethan.

Then back to Vance.

Each switch seamless. Effortless.

Tyler trembled.

“Why… why are you showing me this now?”

Coach Vance smiled.

“Because it’s more fun when someone knows the game… and still loses.”

He turned and walked to the door. Unlocked it.

Before stepping out, he glanced back one last time.

“Goodnight, Tyler.”

And then he was gone.

---

Coach Owen Vance, Shane, and Ethan still attend their occupation at school.

Because he didn’t need to disappear.

Not when the truth was unbelievable.

He was still here.

All of him.

And no one would ever know.

Or maybe, he is around us...

---

End.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Give Thanks

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, familial judgement/bullying, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your mother invites a lonely coworker to Thanksgiving, a bit too lonely.

Characters: Andy Barber

Note: this is the second of my autumn fics as decided by all of you!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

The smell of nutmeg hits you as you enter the house. That and the garble of voices. You take your time as you unlace your boots, keeping your jacket on as the rack is already overflowing with the like. You mentally ready yourself to face your famiiy and their annual judging panel. 

You peek into the front room as you keep a firm hold of the boxed pies you grabbed from your favourite bakery in the city. You promised dessert and you brought it. You'll put them down before you wade in the deep end. 

You enter the kitchen, rehearsing your greeting for your mother, but you're met with a stranger's back. He stands at the counter, scraping cranberry sauce from a saucepan into a serving dish. His brown hair is combed back neatly, though you can only see the ends from your vantage, and he wears a pressed shirt too white for the task at hand. 

You hesitate. Where the heck is your mom? You can't see the man's face but you can tell he's a bit too young for her. Or so you would assume. He could be a cousin's boyfriend and yet he might be a bit above that. 

"Um, hi," you say as you approach the end of the island counter, well away from him, "I'm looking for my mom." 

"Your mom? Doris?" He wonders. 

"Yeah," you answer as you set the pies on the counter. "I know I'm a little late..." 

"She just went to grab something from the cellar," he explains. "I'm Andy--" 

"There she is," your mom sweeps in with her seasonal gravy dish. "Mm, I knew you'd bring store bought." 

"They're from a local bakery." 

"You never did like being in the kitchen," she reprimands. "Oh, Andrew, that looks perfect. Not too runny." 

You glance at the man. This strange man draws praise from her like honey from a comb, whereas you find the task as easy as squeezing juice from a stone. You let it roll off your back like you have for years. 

"I got pumpkin, apple crumble, and some pecan. They usually sell out of that." You say. 

"Ooh, pecan," the man, Andy, says. 

"Oh, Andrew, my younger daughter," your mother introduces you as an afterthought as she goes to wash the gravy boat, "The typist." 

"Typist? Mom, I'm an admin assistant," you counter. "I guess it doesn't matter." 

"Just her, I'm afraid," she shuts off the faucet. "And her pies. No grandkids from her yet." 

You see that this year is going to be just like the last. You're better off facing the rabble of aunts and uncles waiting for you in the front room. Heck, the kids' table might be the place for you. 

"Thirty this year," your mother adds. 

You force a tight-lipped smile. When you were a kid, it was your grades or the stubborn bit of hair at the back of your head or that your sister, Tia, did it better. Now you're an adult, it's your lack of ambition or lack of kids. You don't think you lack the former and you don't really want the latter. Life is what it is. You have a job that pays your bills and you don't need to add to your cost of living. 

"I work with your mom." He offers. You look at him again. 

He’s tall, blue-eyed, distinguished. He’s older but carries it well enough. The thin lines around his eyes only add to his looks, and his thick beard further defines his jaw. 

"Oh, the law firm?" 

"He's a new partner," your mother preens. "Oh, he gave your brother some good advice too. Hopefully he can move out of that public office soon enough." 

Right, Rodney does everything right. He got into law, just like your mother told him too, and he has a pretty house and a pretty wife and three spoiled brats. Tia only has the one and a husband who works out of town every weekend. They're real grown-ups but to you, growing up seems boring. 

Your life isn't glamourous. You do diamond art or catch-up on the last issue of your favourite comic when you're not too tired. You get takeout once a week, otherwise you put the ready-made meals in the microwave and eat it in front of the television. It's not special but it's your life. 

"Public defenders do a service to the community," Andy says. "I did it for twenty years. It's not bad work. He can move up." 

"Mm, and yet you moved to a private firm," your mother challenges him. 

"Maybe you should be partner," he chortles at her playfully as he wipes his hands on the tails of the borrowed apron tied around his torso. 

"My mom makes really good stuffing," you say, "I'm sure you'll enjoy it, even if you're not home for the holiday." You drag your feet along the tile, "I'm going to say hello to Auntie Toya." 

"Good luck. She's in one of her moods," your mother tuts. "Must be menopause." 

You leave before she can aim another snipe in your direction. She can't help but let the bullets fly and see where they hit. It might be thanksgiving, but you're struggling to find much to be grateful for. 

🍂

"Mandy has a Christmas recital. I'll be sending the invite in the family chat," Tia, your sister, proclaims. "If you can make it, she'd be so happy, huh, sweetie?" 

She pets behind her daughter's ear and makes her giggle. Every awes and cooes at the little girl. Just like when your sister was her age, she's the princess of the family. 

"I can try to bring the kids," Rodney says. "We're thinking to get Kelly into dance next year. I need to get used to those things." 

Everyone laughs. You're not very amused. You're happy the kids have hobbies, that they are doing interesting things, but you just don't care that much. Still, your happy to be able to fade into the background. 

"I'm sure your sister can make it," your mother says, bring you back into the universe, "she doesn't have anything else going on." 

Your eyes dart back and forth. Your mouth is full of potatoes. You gulp painfully. 

"I can set the date aside. I still have some vacation left," you choke out. You can't make up an excuse with a whole audience to call you out. 

You sink back into silence as Tia goes on about the show. They're doing The Nutcracker. Oh joy. You were never a fan. Why can't they do something fun, like The Grinch? 

"Don't think I'm included in that invite," Andrew says under his breath from your left shoulder. As the two loners at the table, you're put together. "Kinda awkward." 

He chuckles, trying to ease the tension. You shift and hide your embarrassment. You forgot there was a complete stranger here to witness your judgement. 

"Right, well... I'm sure you have enough going on," you say. 

"I'm sure you do too," he pokes at the yams. "Kids keep you busy but life is already hectic." 

"Sure," you agree dully. You don't want to be rude. "you have kids?" 

"One. A son. Grown. He went to his girlfriend's for the holiday and his mom... is not in town." 

"Bad timing," you take another bite of potatoes. Maybe next year you can come down with a timely case of the flu. 

"Don't be silly. She doesn't have a boyfriend. We'd all know," your mother trills with laughter. You pop your head up as the hairs on your neck tingle. You know she means you before you even catch her gaze. "It'd be such an achievement, she'd have to shout it from the rooftops." 

You lost track of the conversation and you're not sure how you became the butt of the joke, but you're tired. It's supposed to be a day for family but it just feels like you're being cast out of yours. You put your fork down. 

"I'm going to clear my plate. Think I had too big a snack on the drive here," you stand, gritting back your irritation. "As usual, stuffing's delicious." 

You get up and make your way along the table. The silence is dense. Oh well. If they want to make this painful, you can do the same. 

You go to the kitchen and find a container. You scrape your leftovers into it and shake your head. You suppose you are behind. You're thirty years old. Next year you'll be thirty-one and her chiding will be even louder. The ticking of the clock will only ger worse as the years go by. 

"You're right, stuffing's good," Andy says. 

You wince and glance over your shoulder. "Uh, yeah. Like I said, think my eyes were bigger than my stomach." 

He comes up next to you and rinses off his plate, "well, I think my stomach would be turning too after that." 

"It's whatever," you shrug. 

"Thirty isn't old. You got time," he says. 

"Thanks," you reply tersely. 

"Not that it's any of my business." 

You're silent. It isn't but you're not going to be rude enough to say that out loud. Unlike the rest of your family, you can keep your thoughts to yourself. They might think you're immature because you're not living behind a white picket fence, but at least you don't act like a teenager. 

"It's better to take your time. You know, you rush into big decisions and you can't undo them. They don't always turn the way people promise," he says. "You follow that road map, take one wrong turn and you're wife's spending Thanksgiving with her 'work husband' at a hotel." He opens the dishwasher and wedges his plate between the metal, "Work husband, secret boyfriend, you know..." 

You're struck by the revelation. You can hear the tension in his voice. The hurt, the anger. 

"Oh, I'm sorry," you utter dumbly. 

"You're sorry? She isn't," he reaches for your plate and rinses it next. "I'm not telling you because I want you to feel bad for me. I guess I'm trying to commiserate. It could be worse." He adds your plate to the washer, "you're doing nothing wrong. Being alone means you have choices. Being tied to someone... you have obligations." 

"Yeah, sounds about right," you say. "Well, thanks. Not to benefit off your pain but yeah." You put the lid on the tupperware and sidle along to put it in the fridge, "I think I'm going to get some fresh air. Getting a bit overcrowded in here." 

"A little," he agrees. 

You leave and hold your breath until you get to the front door. Who knew the stranger at the table would be the only one to make you feel welcome? 

You grab your coat from the guest room and push your feet into your boots at the front door. You go outside into the brisk air. It's actually nice. Refreshing almost. 

You sit on the porch bench. In the colder months, it's rarely used. It hasn't snowed yet but the frost glistening on the grass is foreboding. 

You tuck your hands into your sleeves and look along the street. The other houses with yellow windows, glowing with the warmth and shadow of happy families. This time of year has only ever been stressful to you. You're never a part of the fun, you're usually the source of it. 

The front door opens and you fight to keep your unease under wraps. You don't need your mom lecturing you. Again. Or Tia telling you not to be jealous. Whatever happens is always your fault. 

"Whew, it's cold," Andy's voice eases your nerves as it assures you it isn't who you fear. 

"Yep, I don't mind. It's the only thin I like about this time of year." 

"Really?" He nears and sits on the other end of the bench. "I'm a summer person, I guess. Used to be we'd go to some resort for New Years." He says. 

"Sounds nice," you say. 

"I know. I'm moaning about a luxury," he scoffs, "trust me, I get it. I got it all, what do I got to whine about?" 

"I wouldn't say that. You never know what people have going on." 

"Nope," he agrees and rubs his hands together. He's quiet as he leans forward, resting his elbows on his legs. He bends and unbends his fingers as he examines them then sits up again. "Brrr. Only good thing about this weather, snuggle weather." 

He laughs. You try to. It's an awkward joke. 

"Maybe I should get a cat," he suggests. 

"Maybe," you clutch your hands tight. You should go inside. You know he's being nice but he's ruined the moment. 

Your teeth chatter as you take a deep breath of the late autumn air. Just a little longer before you go back. You close your eyes. 

The bench creaks and you think he's getting up. He must get the hint. Instead, as you open your eyes, you feel a weight across your shoulders. You flinch and peek at him from the corner of your eye. 

"You're shivering," he says. 

You look at him then back to the road. You should pull away but you can't. It feels mean. 

"God, my hands are so cold," he grips your shoulder as he puts his other hand on your thigh. 

"Woah," you catch his thick fingers. 

"Come on, let's get warmed up," he breaks through your resistance and rubs your leg. 

"Alright, I don't know what you think--" 

"What's so wrong about it? Like trains passing through the night. My wife's cheating, you're single, we could have some fun," he purrs as he holds you against him. 

"Um, no thanks," you grab his fingers again. "I'm flattered but--" 

"Shh, shh," he peels his hand away from your leg, once more evading your grasp, and grabs your chin. "Your mom told me all about it. How you can't get a date--" 

"That's not--" you latch onto his wrist, "stop, please, Andy." 

"Come on," he turns your head and nuzzles your nose with his, "I'm so fucking lonely. My wife hasn't touched me in over a year." 

"Your wife-- Andy," you hiss. 

"Just kiss me, please? That's all I want. Just a little affection. To feel wanted." 

"You're-- stop. Let go of me," you try to dislodge his hold on you. He's too strong.  

He tilts his head and presses his lips to yours. You murmur and slep his chest with your other hands. He hooks his arm around you as he angles you toward him. You writhe and bite his lip. 

He gasps and pulls back, keeping you locked in his embrace, "listen, sweetheart, you wanna play hard-to-get," he squeezes your jaw until you whimper, "what's mom gonna think when she catches you all over her married coworker?" 

"No, that's not--" 

"I'm sure she'll believe you," he snarls and slides his hand down to your throat. 

"Why..." you croak. 

"Baby, please, it's not a bad thing," he moves you with him as he edges off the bench. He turns, one arm still around you, his other hand locked onto your neck. He bends and forces you onto your back as he settles over you. "I'm going to make you feel just as good as you make me feel." 

You wriggle and whine. What he says is just as scary as what he hasn't said. He'll make you feel as good as you do him, or as bad.

[shepscapades]

Howdy! Forgot to ask this on the quiz, so I'll ask here:

Do you ever get tired of the worldbuilding in your works? Like, do you ever want to include some whimsy magic, but the pre-set rules of the world don't allow you?

Also, I might have missed it, but is the concept of the "players code" a thing in your story? We talking admin panels, lag, etc

Just curious, have a nice day!

Ouuu those are two really good questions! I'll answer the code one first, since i think it's important to the dbhc story and something people should know if they didn't previously notice it:

My understanding/headcanon/conceptualization for Hermitcraft (and dbhc, by extension), is that the world and players are very much comprised of code. Code is to the fabric of their minecraft reality like atoms are to the fabric of our reality, and Admins (opped players, i suppose) have special access to and responsibility over this code: they can see into it and adjust or fix errors to ensure players are kept safe and worlds are managed well.

This is perhaps most obviously seen in the "A Delightful new Partnership begins!" Comic in which Xisuma notices something isn't sitting right in the code around him and takes out his 'control panel/admin panel/console/etc' to investigate. I talk about it in a little more detail in my breakdown post of this comic, where I talk about the possibility of 24 getting access to the code, scrambling it up, and not really knowing how it works enough to put things back right. It's also implied that he may be manipulating/messing with Xisuma's memories by deleting parts of X's player code (I note that i didn't want the glitch effects to necessarily be associated with android-y effects), as we see him forget parts of this encounter and constantly shifting in and out of place as he gives unsettlingly neutral/positive/encouraged answers to a manipulative and intimidating Android 24.

I also love incorporating like, console commands into the comics and au :D such as '/clear queued visual cache' from Don't Let It Reach The Heart :] Though i know it's different since he's an android hehe

I also just think code integration into a 'realistic' interpretation of Minecraft-based stories opens the door for really fun translations of Video Game experiences (i.e., interpreting lag as something like disorientation, disassociation, or misalignment between a player's code and the world's). It's super fun to think about so I love making it part of these stories :D

Regarding worldbuilding! I don't think I've really grown tired of it, as far as I know (assuming you're primarily asking about dbhc, but i would say the following goes for my original works, too): When it comes to storytelling and worldbuilding, I have a very very, uh, logically-tracked mind about things? The reason things happen and the way things work all need to make sense within whatever system i've chosen/come up with/been working in, so I often have a lot of fun (or experience a lot of turmoil) trying to make events and characterizations fit within that world. If I ever have a new idea that doesn't fit in that pre-determined set of rules, I either: move on pretty quickly, not lingering on things that wouldn't be possible so I can find ideas or variations of the non-conforming thought that *would* work, OR try to think of fun ways to make a non-conforming idea work by developing a new rule that still coexists with previous ones (i.e., maybe there's an exception in the way the world works for reason x/y/z, and the more i develop that possibility, it could make previous characters or ideas more complex in turn! It's like a very fun puzzle to me, and it's why i love storytelling so much :D

[bullet-prooflove]

Ford Mustang: Tyler Owens x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @hunterthecharmer @heylookwhoitis @Nameuknownthings @shakespeareanwannabe

Companion piece to:

The Mechanic - Tyler faces a problem when Boone brings his mechanic ex girlfriend back into the fold.

Rigs -Tyler reflects on history with you.

The men before Tyler have only ever seen you as a one night or a wife. They’ve never understood your tenacity, your wicked humour, or fierce intelligence. They haven’t stayed up all night arguing the semantics of classic cars, or spent entire weekends helping you restore the 67 Ford Musang someone had abandoned after it had totalled by a tornado. They don’t pick up that special orange blossom honey hand cream you use to keep your skin from cracking underneath the harshness of the cleaners you use to rid your hands of car oil.

You think about this when you turn up to your garage that morning to find a small pot of it resting on the doorstep along with a note that has Tyler’s name and phone number etched in tidy block capitals. He’d had to change it a couple of years ago, Boone had told you. One of his ‘fans’ had gotten hold of it, she wouldn’t stop calling.

You open the small jar and inhale the sweet, soothing scent before dipping your fingers into it and rubbing the balm over your hands. Today’s a paperwork day and you’re going to spend it tucked away in your office, dealing with the admin you’ve been putting off because you’d rather be underneath a car than filing paperwork.

You pin the phone number to the corkboard on the wall behind your desk, your fingertips lingering on the picture stuck beside it. It’s one of you and the first incarnation of the Wranglers, Tyler, Boone and Dani. Tyler’s arm is draped around your shoulders, his lips brushing over your temple as you smile at the camera. That had been before the tornado had disfigured you, before you’d needed thirty stitches to hold the left side of your face together.

You sit down in your ergonomic chair and stare at the jar of hand cream that now resides upon your desk. You know it’s an olive branch, Tyler’s way of reaching out after dismissing you the other day. This stuff doesn’t come cheap and it can only be picked up in one place in Oklahoma. The fact he’s made the four hour trek round trip speaks volumes.  

Acts of service, it’s always been his love language.

When Boone had first called you, you’d been adamant about not returning. You’d learned the hard way what happened when you went up against a force of nature.

“We just need help with the vehicles.” He had assured you. “You don’t have to come chasing with us.”

“Have you spoken to Tyler?” You’d asked him and you could hear his hesitation down the line.

“Not yet. I thought it was best if I got you on board first.” He’d said and you could imagine him playing with that fidget spinner he used to have as he talks to you.

“You know I would do anything to keep you guys safe.” You’d said quietly. “Just because I’m not around doesn’t mean I don’t care.”

“I know.” Boone had said. “And just because we’ve not been around doesn’t mean we don’t care. It’s hard for him…”

“It’s hard for me too.” You remind Boone because every time you walk down the street someone does a double take when they look at you.

You used to be such a pretty girl, an ex had told you after he’d given you a pity fuck last year, now you’re just damaged.

You’d used your keys to scratch a line along the entire side panel on his brand new SUV after he kicked you out of bed.

“You’re lucky I didn’t use acetone.” You’d told him when you’d picked up the phone to him screaming. “Keep on calling and I will.”

He’d gotten the message after that and you had kept yourself to yourself because you’d rather be alone than with someone who views you as charity case.

Your gaze strays back to Tyler’s phone number and you’re flung back into a memory, the one from after the hospital when you looked into the mirror for the first time

“You’re still the most beautiful woman I’ve laid eyes on.” He’d whispered against your mouth as he’d cradled your face between his palms, his thumb chasing over the black thread that lined your jaw. “This isn’t anything to be ashamed of, it’s just another part of your story.”

You’d believed him at the time because Tyler, he doesn’t lie, especially not to you. You’d taken solace in his words, held you head up high when you went out on the street, ignored the stares and things were good until they weren’t. There was another tornado outbreak out in Louisiana and Tyler, he just had to do the thing he loved even if it wasn’t with the person he loved.

You give up on the paperwork, you’re too distracted for that level of organisation. You set yourself to work on the Mustang instead, cranking up Zach Bryan on the sound system, singing along under you breath as you continue your restoration. You’re in the fight of your life with a rusty bolt when you hear a light rapping on open garage door behind you.

“I’m not done with you.” You threaten the bolt before you set the wrench down on the work bench and pick up a rag to clean your hands.

When you look up that your breath catches in your chest because it’s Tyler standing there, in those worn Levi’s he’s owned since his rodeo days and that orange flannel shirt you used to wear to bed at night.

“Sophie.” He says softly, his arms crossed over his chest as he leans in the doorway. “Can we talk?”

Love Tyler? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[freakysaken-headcanons]

I'm glad we're getting freaky with 07's c00lgUI that thing has so much damn potential

I feel like 07 is really proud of his c00lgui even if hes ashamed of his hacking past, and if anyone asks him how it works 07 gets a cocky smile and goes on a confident rant filled with memorized code segments and words that only make sense to someone deep in the coding trenches, and you can see how the quiet father used to be such a menace. unluckily for 07, the only people who would ask have at least some coding knowledge, and he's flat out just saying which lines of his code do what things and "it took awhile to figure out but you can make that line do basically anything if you-" peaks quite a few people's interests

and more unfortunately, 07 would definitely let people look at c00lguis code, smiling as he watches chance looking over his life project and unknowing that the admins survivors gave him step by step instructions based off of 07's rants. 07 has to be nearby the c00lgui for the panel to be open, of course, but all chance has to do is ask 07 to give him a more visual example of what x piece of code does and while 07's grabbing a whiteboard to show him, he gets a full body shudder that he usually only gets when editing his or his clones code - but when he gets back Chance is looking through a completely different area, and it's Chance whos own gun blows up on him so 07 must have just been cold or something.

but then Chance says something, the code activating prevents 07 from hearing what the trigger word actually was, but 07's body is forced to relax and he watches the whiteboard and marker fall out of his hands. then Chance says it again and 07 just looks over and stares at Chances smug grin.

and then 07 can't stop thinking about it, laying in his bed in the dead of night. he looked over the code and saw it was a function he explained over a week ago and doesn't touch it, just labels that section of code # chance and makes sure the code won't activate in the middle of a round. he's too flattered, and too lonely and the thought of Chance actually listening to what 07 said,and that he wasn't just talking to him out of pity turns him on way too much. the realization that 07 has been explaining his code loudly in the cabin for everyone to hear,has almost entirely explained how his clones work [and by extension how most of his own player code works] has him covering his mouth with his hand as he jerks off to the thought,whimpering.

and then Elliot asks to see his c00lgui, and 07 is curious, makes something up about grabbing a drink from the kitchen and gets the same shiver, and comes back only to find that Elliot is gone and Elliot labeled his own code # ;). 07 doesn't look at what the code does, eyes purposefully glazing over as he skims through it just to make sure the code won't break. and then it happens again, until almost all of the survivors have put in some form of code and 07 has no clue what any of it does.

until they're all having a movie night, the first movie night 07 has even been invited to so of course he joins, and as the credits on the movie took Noob leans down to where 07 is sitting in front of the couch and whispers if he's okay with the night getting a bit more heated. 07 says yes, and suddenly c00lgui is pulled up without his permission and his body is relaxed again, more trigger words he couldn't make out. he's being picked up and pulled onto the couch,into someone's lap, and turns his head only to see Shedletsky looking over his c00lgui. "wow, you really didn't touch any of this? I think you deserve a reward."

uhm thats it they all programmed freaky shit with code words and 07 gets passed around like a blunt

-07's Big naturals

no way you just put a whole fanfic in my inbox

this is amazing btw, 10/10

[mt-oe]

Idol!Mizu AU where Mizu is in a girl group 🫡 she's known for being the "handsome" girl of the group but also her and reader having constant romantic tension with each other on stage

Fans speculating whether or not Mizu and Reader's interactions are just for fan service or more genuine

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Hey dear!

I hope you're still there! I wanted to look for girl groups with a similar trope (or at least what fans make it out to be) to better visualize the idea. Though I think I made this more dramatic than the idea.

Honestly, I really have to thank you because your idea introduced me to C-Pop and it's been great so far! Thank you so much <3

Hope you enjoy! Mwa mwa :*

warning/s: not proofread, short, she/her for mizu, implied afab reader

note: Yes, I used oshi no ko for the pic, but I do not condone incest. That's fucking disgusting. It was the only idol manga I knew with the panel vibes I was aiming for ;;

It was 6:57pm at Tokyo Dome. The venue usually filled only by the brightest and most talented idols was now filled with fans clutching their light sticks and banners excitedly. Admins from both official and unofficial fan pages handed out fan made photo cards to anticipating hands as they sang along to the music video playing as they waited and practiced their chants.

Outside, those who got out-lucked by others during the ticket selling or just couldn't afford the tickets, waited, hoping for even a glimpse of their bias by some lucky chance. Some were even hoping that a scalper would come pass by, try not minding how overpriced it would be. Double, triple, or even quadruple the price. It didn't matter. Any price would be worth it just to watch the biggest and hottest idol group in the world.

The talk of the town—the world rather.

Four members recruited as trainees at the same time, each scout claiming that they were a once-in-a-lifetime find, now formed under one group. They were charming, addicting, and they knew how to get everyone hooked.

Akemi, the group leader and princess. Born and raised in Kyoto. Undeniably pretty, soft, alluring, yet at the same time, fierce, well-spoken, and confident. "I want to be great," she said during the interview. And indeed, great she is. Rumors had it that she was the daughter of a famous businessman, but due to the lack of evidence, the rumor stayed a rumor. Ise. She may be the oldest in the group, but her charms never faltered with age. Always the face in sexy and mature concepts. Brands aiming for a more elegant and stronger appeal would come rushing at every given chance. Faced a lot of backlash at the start of her trainee days for being scouted along the streets of Kabukicho. However, after a long struggle and proving her talents, the information was finally forgotten, drowned in the sea of praises. Mizu, the lady killer. Homegrown from Kohama. The talent manager almost put her in a boy group due to her androgynous-borderline-masculine look. Usually stoic and aloof. Everyone would kill for her to smile at them. She rarely posts on social media. Her managers have to beg her for a crumb of an update. Fortunately, the company somehow found a social media manager for her. Now fans await her gym pictures, drooling over her abs, and her livestreams where she basically just does the most normal things. Everyone eats it up though. You. Everyone considered you as the doll of the group. An all-rounder, handling singing, dancing, and the most active when it came to fan interactions. You definitely had the most fan meeting fan cams. Able to handle every concept equally, whether it be the typical cute idol concept or a more mature sexier concept. The face card never declines.

Anyone who didn't know them had to be living under a rock or something.

Several news reporters struggled amongst each other to get the latest news about the on-going concert. Some fans even got interviewed about their sentiments, ranting on live television about how excited they were. Traffic reports had to be monitored constantly with how large the traffic jam was.

Finally, the clock struck 7.

It was go time.

The lights dimmed and the general announcements were given. Though it wasn't like anyone cared. They were too busy scrambling back to their seats, making sure their light sticks were on the correct settings. Excitement rushed through them as they watched the back-up dancers get into position on stage.

Cheers erupted from the crowd as the music started. The stage filled with smoke and colorful lights, adding to the hyped up feeling. Fans stood up as they saw the silhouettes of their idols, screaming their lungs out.

"Tokyo! Did you miss us?" the familiar voice of Akemi could be heard as the platform was raised, causing a massive wave of screams and cheers from the crowd. You suppressed the urge to gasp as you finally got the opportunity to see how big of an audience your group had amassed. You knew your group was famous, but to see what Tokyo Dome looked like sold out?

It was like a dream.

A sea of lights glimmering in the dark, like stars littering the vastness of the sky. Each a different color to represent their bias, some blinking multiple colors to represent their equal love for each member. If you had to envision what a fantasy world would look like, it was definitely this.

Your eyes looked over the tarps hung over the railings, all welcoming your group back in Tokyo, expressing their love. Each banner causing your smile to brighten as you sang through the mic, a bounce in your step while you roamed through the stage, wanting to interact with everyone equally.

Enjoyment ran through your body as you performed. An intense want to bring your fans the same joy that they brought you motivated you to do your best. You could feel your heart swelling with affection for your fans. The blood in your veins running faster as the lights shone brighter and brighter but never outshining you.

What can you say? The stage was your playing field.

Everything was going great. The song was going well, no technical difficulties, and none of you were getting tired yet. Your skirt fluttering animatedly as you continued to roam around, waving and reaching your hand to those in the VIP standing area. As the song reached it's final chorus, you were about to stand up straight when your foot suddenly slipped, causing you to fall forward.

A gasp made it's way off of your lips as you closed your eyes. All your thoughts going blank as you waited for the pain to hit you. However, seconds passed and...nothing.

Oddly enough, it feels like the stage became a bit more quiet. Slowly, you opened your eyes, expecting to see the floor and a bit of blood. Instead, your eyes met the surprised—and maybe even swooning—eyes of your fans.

Confused, you looked back to see Mizu's hand gripping your arm tightly, preventing you from falling. A stern yet concerned expression on her face. She looked back at you, eyes narrowing as she pulled you up into her arms effortlessly. Her lips tugged into a small smile, hands wrapping around your waist as you giggled and gave her a nod to thank her silently. Ah, damn it. You could see the amount of Tiktok edits made later.

Fans squealed at the interaction, whispering and fawning over how romantic it was. The constant romantic tension between the two of you was no secret within the community. It started as a joke during the group debut with how many times the two of you interacted behind the scenes, but now everyone's wondering whether there was something more to it.

Song after song, your group performed tirelessly, starting with songs from the cute concept albums. Eyes were on you and Akemi mostly, having fit the concept the most. However, you couldn't help but feel a particular set of eyes on you, even when it wasn't your part yet.

You looked around, before your gaze landed on Mizu's, who immediately looked away. A small amused huff leaving you as you walked over to her, bumping her lightly with your hip, making her eyes widen slightly.

The lights soon dimmed as the group finally finished with the first half. The other members leaving the stage to give way for each other's solo songs.

Wiping the sweat off of your forehead, a cold sensation suddenly pressed against your shoulder, making you jump. It was Mizu. In her hand was a water bottle. She chuckled and handed it to you, amused at the residual rush you felt. "You're doing an awful lot, aren't you?" she chuckled, sitting down next to you, her pants already changed for her solo.

"Well it's Tokyo Dome after all," you sighed dreamily, taking a huge gulp of water before smiling sheepishly at your makeup artist who looked pissed at you for ruining the lipstick she just retouched. "Who knew we'd reach this far?"

Despite spending your trainee days together, the blue-eyed idol was still an enigma to you. Someone you felt a strange sense of longing and comfort, but at the same time, someone you couldn't quite grasp.

Mizu smiled fondly at you, patting your head. "I always knew you could do it," she mumbled, eyes studying your form. The amount of stamina you had for performing never ceased to amaze her. Unbeknownst to you, she shared the same sentiments. You were incredible to her.

"Hey! No touching the hair!" you huffed, swatting her hand off playfully. "And you're here with me too, aren't you?"

She raised an eyebrow and gave a small nod, smile never leaving her lips. "I am, but you.." her voice trailed off into a fond whisper as she stood up again. Cerulean eyes squinted as she laughed softly, her voice hinted with something else. Admiration? Attraction? Love? "I never doubted you. You're more of an idol than anyone in our group."

You were about to question her about it, a small tightening feeling in your chest. You knew about the fan allegations and you knew Mizu knew about it too, but sometimes she made you feel like they were true; that your fans had noticed something you didn't.

As you opened your mouth to ask, her wardrobe manager rushed into the room and immediately scolded her for wandering off when it was almost her solo. She flashed you a small smile and a little wave before her face rested back into her usual stoic expression.

A sigh left your lips as you stared at where she previously sat. 'I'm going crazy, aren't I? She's probably just doing this to make the act more believable..' you thought, standing up as well to talk over to your makeup artist.

Your heart hurt slightly at the thought. What will happen once all of this was over? When the audience no longer cared about the small smiles and touches she gave you? You wished you could stay here forever, to be by her side through the ups and downs of this idol life. Maybe even after, in a more peaceful one. But realistically...

Mizu would forget about you then, wouldn't she?

The inner turmoil boiled up in your chest, making you sigh. 'I need to stop. We're in the middle of a concert,' you thought to yourself. Your eyes traveled to the small TV they had set up backstage, watching as the love of your life you bandmate performed her song.

The twinkle in your eyes brightening as you watched her. Each lyric, each dance move, each fan service, making your heart clench with a strange sense of longing. "She's going all out, isn't she?" your makeup artist said softly, attaching the gems to your face. You quickly snapped out of your love-dazed trance and huffed. "A bit," you replied. "But she's not going to outdo me."

It was frustrating. How both of you tiptoed around your feelings but never taking a step forward.

No.

You couldn't take the step forward. A step forward meant the end of your career. Her career. You couldn't do that. Not when she was shining so brightly.

After a bit of preparation, it was finally your turn to be on stage, performing your solo. Undeniably, your performance was impeccable. Choreography practiced to perfection, each note hit, and every pose timed to give the most impact. However, despite how seemingly well you were performing, your thoughts were plagued by the uncertainty you felt.

After all this, it would be over anyway. When the lights of your idol career stops shining, so will her small reassuring gestures, so will the butterflies she gave you.

As the song transitioned to the next album, you were pulled out of your thoughts by a hand on your waist, giving you a small pat. Ocean eyes squinting as she smiled at you reassuringly. "Keep your mind on the stage," she whispered against your ear before turning her mic on.

She's right. You were getting distracted.

"Oh who do you think I am," you jokingly whispered back, covering your mic before joining Ise and Akemi walk around the stage. A chuckle escaped her lips as she watched you move, eyes filled with admiration unbeknownst to you. The interaction making her fans swoon as the romantic scene fueled their fantasies. She soon joined the rest as everyone did their best to give the performance Tokyo deserved.

Confetti flew around as the performance finally ended. You were now accepting gifts from your fans, catching stuffed toys thrown onto the stage. The turmoil in you continuing to brew, the stage really brought you a strange kind of happiness. Would you choose to stay here? Or would you take the dive forward into love?

Like a prince charming, here to save you from your thoughts, Mizu gave you a small pat. A hug hidden by the smoke covering the stage as the platform lowered. Oh why the hell were you thinking so much?

Maybe someday, the both of you would finally brave it out and confess. Maybe someday, the world will accept two idols falling in love. But today was just another job well done.

[scaryorganmusic]

insp by this post feel free to click and read the actual description of the activities

*any activity is subject to being cancelled and replaced by an extra hour in the ballpit

[hiveswap]

Neat things on r/place this year! If you squint you can see a teey tiny c!tommy close to the federation one :) i know there was a hermitcraft panel somewhere but I cannot find it anymore.

I know Turkey takes up much of that screenshot, but focus on tiny techno and geometry dash! (our allies) Turkey finally got its shit together and made itself looks pretty but they were enemies the whole way. Genshin is there because I'm pround of them for how good they did compared to last year.

I recommend looking at the small communities on the canvas, the ones barely a few pixels across. it's the dedication of a small community dead set on representing their interests or identity.

Sadly I couldn't listen to the full conversation with technodad's assistant in the technoplace discord yesterday, (well, today 2 am..) but I think it's great that she was even there!

i'm also glad that I could be here again this year. There's a bit more time to go before it closes, but I want to already say that building art of someone who meant a lot to all of us in the mcyt(blr) community was worth the stress (drama, admin corruption, toxicity, griefing) again.

[theidiotwhowritesthings]

pls don't judge my newest obsession

The Pitt has enveloped me body, mind, and soul, so on AO3 I have a fic going. See here: Finding Worth

If you're seeing this on tumblr for the first time, or you're coming from AO3 directly, we are having MATCH DAY!! Match Day is how medical students find out where they will be doing their residency and I thought it would be fun to make a few fake medical students from you to choose from (they will show up in the story so choose carefully 👀). There are two openings for interns!

Who do you wanna see join the Pitt crew??

Candidate #1: Valentina Diaz

On interview day, she does show up five minutes late but apologizes profusely for the delay but offers no excuse or explanation as to why. She seems well spoken and is able to elaborate her points, weakness, and passions eloquently. Has no social media that can be found through searches. Does not speak to the other applicants who came for interviews on the same day.

Candidate #2: Connor Hamilton

On interview day, he shows up on time well dressed and well prepared. Brings additional copies of his CV to offer to the interview panel in case they did not have a copy available to them. Did apply for sub-internship at PTMH, to work in the Pitt, was turned down due to lack of availability. Instead applied and got sub-internship at Mercy. He is polite and well spoken to other applicants on interview day. He has social media, but it is private and cannot be accessed.

Candidate #3: Olivia Emmons

On interview day, she arrives fifteen minutes early with a coffee and yogurt to eat prior to interview. She is bubbly and outgoing, admin does make a note of her personable demeanor. She makes friends with the other applicants day of interview and offers to buy coffee at break time. She does have social media, not private, and when looking on her instagram she has pictures of her at an animal shelter, her at a football game with sorority sisters, and other random photos of nights out and friends.

Candidate #4: Robert Henderson

On interview day, he is ten minutes late but he brings coffee for each staff member conducting the interview. Very well spoken and eloquent with his discussion on research matters and medicine. Notes that he will be the first physician in his family as his older brother recently graduated from law school. Spends his lunch break on his phone rather than speaking to other applicants. Has social media but is private and cannot be accessed.

[the-kr8tor]

Oblivion

Ending one

Solo Mission<<<

You chose the escape pods.

“We need to get the fuck out of here!” With a push on Hobie's shoulder, you sprint towards the right where the escape pods are.

Running away with all your might while Hobie shoots back at the creature, whose thudding footsteps reverberate through your bones, your fear encapsulates you. Your fear of him dying, seeing him get devoured by the very thing that killed your friends.

With your console on your wrist, you close each hallway shutters that were built to withstand great explosions but to the grotesque being, it's nothing but a wall of hay as it continues to run through it with barely any resistance.

There's no turning back now.

Its groans of pain, and flesh still burning, it runs towards you with such ferocity that you think it has a spark of humanity left in its distorted body. You could feel your heart pumping in your chest, lungs desperately heaving in more air as with every banging sound from behind, metal breaking and cracking with every shutters closing.

Hobie checks on you with arms lugging around the dismembered hand. Its hundred fingers are still wiggling and bleeding in his grasp.

“Love!” He yells as he sees the end of the hallway with the large circular doors with the written words that you've been waiting for.

“I know!” With one final push, you kneel down, using the momentum to slide on the grimy floors, rifle immediately pointing towards the creature. “Hobie, the finger prints!”

“On it!” As you shoot, Hobie brings the gigantic hand on the scanner next to the door. He checks every finger but none of them have the admin clearance you need. “Fuck!” There's still dozens to go through but the creature is still gunning after you, albeit slower this time as your concoction makes its way into its veins.

“Hurry! I'm running out of—” just as you say it, the creature falls on the ground, sliding its bloodied body on the floors, stopping just a few feet away from you. Panting, you look over your shoulder to meet with Hobie's eyes.

“Holy shit.” His eyes glint with hope. With one remaining finger to scan, it beeps then a green light illuminates his helmet. “Lucky.” He almost chuckles out.

Your eyes glimmer under the red lights, as he helps you up, the creature huffs, reminding you that you don't have much time left.

“Let's go before it wakes.” Hand in hand, Hobie leads you inside the room with its rows upon rows of escape pods at the ready. As you predicted based on the ship's age, one pod could only house one person. Something that has been fixed ten years ago after an incident.

The doors hiss close behind you, granting you one last look at the sleeping monster.

You place the now empty rifle next to the door, running towards the closest pod to check if it's all clear only to find the unmistakable red error code on the panel. “Fuck, this might've been damaged from before. Any luck?”

Hobie checks every single pod, desperation crawling on his neck with every error he sees on each escape pod. “Not yet.”

A deep rumble from outside freezes the blood in your veins. “There's gotta be one that's working!” You scream in frustration, hands trembling as you skim every single one of them. Your hope fades away when you see the very last pod at the end of the line with the same red flashing on its screen.

Hobie’s rapid footsteps recede, “love! Over ‘ere!” You follow him quickly, running towards him with a soft smile. Finding that he's waiting at the last pod, which only means one thing. “You need to take your helmet off or you won't fit in it.” He's already twisting your helmet off before you could protest. “We— you need to get inside, love.”

“No,” his hands grip your arms, pulling you gently towards the now opened pod. “No, not without you damn it!” You push him away, his body almost landing inside the pod as he looks at you with his tear filled eyes. “I'm not leaving without you.” The trilling sounds get louder, and your vision warbles into the same rainbow light. “I can't, Hobie.”

He sniffs, lips slowly curling into a gentle smile, a reassuring one. Calling your name like it's the last time he'll ever say it, he reaches for you again. “You have to go.” His palms rests on your cheeks, catching your tears in his gloves. “I'll find my own way out, yeah? And we'll get that house with the readin’ nook you always wanted.”

“But it won't be a home without you!” You stomp your foot down like a child throwing a tantrum. “I don't have to go, okay? W–we can keep running from it until it starves! Please, don't make me leave you behind.” You wrap your arms around his neck, embracing him fully while you slowly inch towards the pod while his back is turned from it. “Please.”

“‘m sorry, lovie.” He thumps his helmet atop your forehead gently, trying to feel your warmth through the glass. “I'll see you again, in this life or the next.”

Leaning away, your forehead presses gently on his helmet, eyes closed as you savour his warmth. Sliding your palms on his chest, your thumbs caresses the patch you two designed years ago. “No, I'm sorry.” With one strong push, he falls backwards into the hull. You take advantage of his shock, closing and locking the door over him. “You're gonna be okay.”

“No, Please!” Hobie hears the muffled thudding from behind the glass, and your quiet sobbing as you punch in coordinates on the control panel. He tries to push the glass, then punches it to no avail. It doesn't crack or hiss open, despite him pulling the lever to open it. “You should be ‘ere, not me! Love! Open the fuckin’ door!” He keeps punching the glass, heart wretched out of his heart as he watches you sacrifice yourself. He calls your name again, soft and broken in his throat. “Don't leave me.”

The flashing ‘launch’ button appears as you finish putting in the coordinates of earth or any closest space station, whichever it finds first. You could only hope that he gets back there safely, he needs to survive. For his sake and yours.

Your finger hovers over the button as you hear a crashing sound. “I love you, I'm so sorry.” The doors rip open, and the creature's thundering footsteps fade away in your ears while you could only hear Hobie's anguished muted screaming. “I hope I get to meet you again, captain.”

With a press of the button, the last thing he ever saw was your shining smile, and the monster looming behind you.

As the dark space encapsulates him, and the pod propelling him back to earth, he could only see your last smile behind his eyelids and the kaleidoscope of light fading in his vision.

You didn't make it.

[aquinnix]

Everything was set, the lights hung and the fireplace crackling. Snow fell softly outside, coating the world in a sparkling white. But in here, with mugs of various steaming beverages, it was warm. All the hermits had gotten together to have a little holiday party, take a break from the busyness and take a breath in each other's company. All save for one. 

Come to think of it, no one had seen X all day. 

Maybe he was just getting some surprise ready? But this just didn’t seem like him, there was no poorly thought out excuse or sign that something was to come. They had agreed on this date a month ago! Surely X didn’t have anything else going on. Someone had told X, right? Yes, yes they had. 

So where was he? 

<GeminiTay> X? Are you coming? 

<Keralis1> Shashwam? Hello? 

<Docm77> If you don’t respond in the next minute we will send out a search party. 

<Zedaph> A very festive search party! 

X did not respond. Now everyone was starting to get a bit worried. X had a tendency to get caught up in whatever he was working on and forget to do basic things such as eating or sleeping or breathing (X had taken his helmet off one time to better fit into a tight spot in a contraption of his and Doc had to force the thing back onto him).

Search party it was. 

It didn't take long to find X hunched over his admin panel in a dark corner of his base. He didn’t seem to notice the group’s presence until Grian tapped him on the shoulder. X jerked upright, nearly bashing his head against the wall. 

“Suma, you promised you wouldn’t do this to yourself again.” Doc’s voice was stern, but understanding. 

X reluctantly tucked the panel away. “Sorry.” He stood, hand coming to rub at the back of his neck. “Why are you guys here?” 

The group all took turns exchanging glances before Zed finally spoke up. “You didn’t forget about the party did you?” He put his hands on his hips playfully. 

X’s eyes widened. “That was today wasn't it…” A few nods. 

“Is, not was.” Zed pulled a string of paper snowflakes out of his pocket. 

[dani3lricciard0]

Dancing With The Devil

Daniel Ricciardo x Reader

Summary: Rose is Lando's childhood best friend, who has finally landed her dream job as the social media admin for the McLaren Formula 1 team. On her first day of the job, she meets McLaren's new driver, Daniel Ricciardo, and they are off to a rocky start.

Warnings: None for now, but it will get spicier in future parts

A/N: This is a bit of a long one, but is mainly setting the scene for the rest of the chapters. It's my first time writing an enemies to lovers vibe like this so all feedback is welcomed!

Chapter One - First Impressions

next

15th February 2021

The sleek, modern architecture of the McLaren Technology Centre stretched before you, its glass panels gleaming under the setting sun. You took a second to breathe while taking in your surroundings before stepping inside. Today was your first day as the social media admin for McLaren. You'd dreamed of working in Formula 1 ever since you were a child, spending most of your weekends at karting tracks watching my your best friend, Lando Norris, working to achieve his own dream of reaching Formula 1. The excitement and nervousness churned within you as you adjusted your camera strap and checked your phone one last time, heading towards the entrance.

The launch of the MCL35M was in full swing, with engineers, drivers, media, influencers and other guests buzzing around the latest McLaren masterpiece. You manoeuvred through the crowd, taking a few quick pictures, but desperately searching for a familiar face.

Eventually, you spot Lando talking with his engineers, his infectious grin greeting you as you approach.

"Rose! You made it!" Lando exclaimed, pulling you in for a brief hug. "Welcome to the team!"

"Thanks, Lando," you replied with a smile. "I can't believe I'm here."

"You're going to kill it," he said confidently, bumping his shoulder into yours, before walking you around the event, introducing you to key team members and ensuring you felt at ease.

As the event progressed, you immersed myself in your new role, capturing candid moments of the team and guests, documenting interviews, and the stunning details of the newly unveiled MCL35M. You were having so much fun, it didn't feel much like work at all.

You found a chair to sit and review some of the pictures and videos you'd taken so far, when you heard someone clear their throat above you. You looked up to find Daniel Ricciardo, Lando's new team member, looking down at you with an unreadable expression. God, he's beautiful in person, you thought.

"You ever put that phone down?" he quipped, his Australian accent laced with a hint of mischief.

You straightened, caught off guard by his casual jab. "It's kind of my job," you retorted, attempting to maintain an air of professionalism.

Daniel scoffed, taking a sip of his drink. "Sure.. but don't you think you're missing out on the real action, looking at everything through a screen?"

You bristled slightly at his comment, not understanding where the hostility was coming from considering this was your first interaction. "Without this screen, no one outside of this room would get to see any of the action. I'm here to make them feel connected to the team."

Daniel leaned closer, giving you a whiff of his cologne. It would have been intoxicating if you weren't so distracted by the way he was making you feel like you were doing something wrong. "Seems to me like you're here for virtual validation. What are you, an influencer?" he said, his face twisting into a smirk.

You narrowed your eyes at him, feeling the irritation rise. "I work for McLaren, asshole," you state firmly. "I'm the social media admin, today is my first day."

His smirk faded slightly, replaced with a puzzled expression. "Oh, so you're not just here for the followers?"

"No," you replied tersely, crossing your arms defensively. "I'm here to promote you, make you look good. Seems like I have my work cut out for me."

Before Daniel could respond, Lando appeared behind him and smiled down at you. "Hey, guys," he said, oblivious to the tense atmosphere he'd just walked into. "I see you've met my best friend," he said cheerfully, clapping a hand on Daniel's shoulder.

Daniel's demeanour shifted almost imperceptibly, his mind whirring with cynical amusement. So, that's how she got the job, he thought to himself, a flicker of understanding colouring his expression. He glanced at you, his gaze lingering for a moment longer than necessary before he replied to Lando.

"Ah, yeah," Daniel replied casually, flashing a charming grin. "Just getting acquainted with the new social media whiz here."

You couldn't help but roll your eyes at Daniel's thinly veiled sarcasm, but kept your mouth shut for Lando's sake.

"That's great," Lando said. "Rose is going to do great things here," he said proudly.

"Thanks, Lando," you replied sincerely, grateful for his support despite his complete lack of awareness. With that, Lando excused himself to greet other guests, leaving you and Daniel in an awkward silence. You turned back to your work, feeling Daniel's gaze on you but choosing to ignore it, hoping he'd take the hint.

Soon enough, he sauntered off to mingle with other guests, and you let out a breath you didn't know you'd been holding. You couldn't help but feel disappointed at your first interaction with the Australian driver, who had always seemed like a genuinely nice person. You sighed, deciding that perhaps that was all a product of the marketing teams for his previous F1 teams. You really did have your work cut out for you.

As the event drew to a close, Lando found you once again. "Hey, you," he beamed. "A few of us are going for a drink if you wanna join?"

"I'd love to," you replied gratefully, eager to relax after a busy day.

As you settled in to the booth at a nearby bar, Lando held up his glass. "To Rose," he smiled across at you. "Congratulations on your first day." Everyone raised their glasses towards you, offering you their congratulations. You got to know everyone, feeling a real sense of family among the team.

Mid-conversation, Daniel sauntered into the bar, approaching the booth. "Hey, everyone," he greeted, exchanging nods and hellos with the team before settling in next to Lando.

"Daniel, good to see you," Lando greeted warmly. "We're just celebrating Rose's first day with the team."

Daniel's eyes briefly flickered to me, an unreadable expression on his face. "Oh, Rose, I almost didn't recognise you without your nose buried in your phone," he remarked, with that awful smug expression crossing his face once again.

You roll your eyes at him, the irritation you felt towards him earlier returning instantly. "Believe it or not, work isn't the only thing I do."

"Right, work. Must be nice working with your best bud here, eh?" He says, tilting his head towards Lando. "Always good to have friends in high places."

Your expression tightened, detecting the jab in his words. You resist the urge to react impulsively, knowing it won't help your cause. "Sure, connections matter, but so does competence," you reply, voice tinged with frustration.

Lando, finally sensing the atmosphere between you and Daniel for the first time this evening, gently placed his hand on the table. "Okay, we're meant to be celebrating! I think it's time for more drinks," he suggested with a bright smile, attempting to diffuse the tension.

As Lando headed to the bar, the conversation shifted to the upcoming season. They discussed the challenges of the new regulations, the dynamics within the team, and the potential of the new car. You found it difficult to engage fully, your mind still preoccupied with Daniel's pointed remarks.

Daniel sat back in his seat and took a sip of his drink, turning his head towards you. "So, Rose, tell me more about how you landed this gig." he quizzed, voice tinged with doubt.

You sighed inwardly, steeling yourself against his probing. "I went through the hiring process like everyone else," you replied evenly, keeping your tone neutral.

Daniel raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. "Ah, but you must have had a leg up, right?" he pressed.

You looked into his eyes for the first time since he sat down, your frustration reaching a new level. "I don't know what you're implying, but I earned my place here," you asserted firmly.

"Sure, but sleeping with a driver must have helped." He said, nodding towards Lando.

"Excuse me?"

"Oh come on, no need to be embarrassed. You're not the only one," he said with the smirk that seemed to be permanently etched into his features.

"You're disgusting." you shot back, the words slipping out louder than intended as you pushed back from the table, rising to your feet just as Lando returned to the table with a tray of drinks.

"Woah, everything okay over here?" he asked, glancing between you and Daniel.

You met Lando's gaze, your frustration evident. "Yeah, I think I'm done here," you replied avoiding Daniel's gaze, knowing he'd be relishing in your outburst.

Lando's expression softened with concern as you grabbed your bag. "Are you sure? It's still early," he said gently, placing the drinks on the table.

You nodded, trying to muster a reassuring smile. "Yeah, it's been a long day. I just need to get some rest."

"Okay, get home safe," Lando said, pulling you in for a hug before you said your goodbyes to the rest of the team. Daniel leaned back in his seat, not looking at you. His expression was unreadable, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes - a hint of regret or realisation, perhaps.

Outside of the bar, the cool night air offered a moment of relief. You took a moment to collect your thoughts, trying to shake off the tension that had built up over the evening. This wasn't how your first day was meant to go.

Driving home, you reflected on the evening's events. This was your dream job, and you were going to fight to prove you belonged here. You knew from the get-go that this was a male dominated sport, and you weren't about to let Daniel Ricciardo, or anyone for that matter, make you feel like you didn't deserve your place. His scepticism was just another hurdle to overcome.